Chapter 2: The Walk Home
The bar's lights flickered, half of them dimming to a sullen amber. A few patrons stirred from their booths, shrugging into jackets, and the bartender began collecting glasses with the practiced efficiency of closing time.
Diego stood and offered his hand. Palm open. The same gesture from earlier, the same question asked in pressure and shape. Stefan looked at it for a long moment, then took it.
Diego's fingers closed around his, warm and sure, and pulled him gently to his feet. They walked through the thinning crowd together, hand in hand, and Stefan felt the stares of a few men follow them. He didn't care. Diego's thumb pressed against the inside of his wrist, a silent promise, and Stefan's breath hitched at the intimacy of it.
The heavy steel door swung shut behind them, sealing off the bar's warmth. The night air hit Stefan's face, cool and clean, carrying the scent of wet concrete and distant traffic. The polished entrance glowed under recessed sconces, casting their shadows long across the ground.
"Where are you parked?" Diego asked, his voice low and easy.
"I walked. Apartment's about fifteen minutes that way." Stefan gestured vaguely toward the darkened street.
Diego's thumb traced a slow circle against Stefan's wrist before he released his hand. The absence of contact was almost painful.
"Text me when you're home," Diego said. "Let me know you got there safe."
"I will."
Diego smiled, that warm, crinkling smile that made Stefan's chest feel tight. Then he turned and walked toward a dark truck parked at the curb, leaving Stefan standing in the amber glow with his heart hammering and his palm still tingling.
The walk home was a blur of streetlights and cool air. By the time Stefan climbed the stairs to his apartment and locked the door behind him. His desire to cum had been building for the whole twenty minute walk home. He leaned against the door, pressed the heel of his palm against his cock through his jeans, and let out a shaky breath. Fuck he was hard!
He unzipped and pulled out his cock. His hand closed around his aching length, and he jerked off against the wall, hard and fast, his thumb tracing the same circle Diego had pressed into his wrist.
His thumb traced the same slow circle Diego had pressed into his wrist, and the memory of that pressure, warm and sure through the denim, made his hips push forward into his own fist. The buzz of his phone against his thigh nearly made him lose his grip.
He fumbled for it, screen too bright in the dark apartment. One message.
You make it home, ok?
"Fuck yeah," Stefan said out loud, and the words broke something loose. He shuddered against the wall, hips driving into his fist with a graceless, desperate rhythm. Come spilled over his knuckles in thick ropes, splattering his shirt and the dark laminate floor. He came with his eyes squeezed shut, and behind his lids, Diego's smile burned through the black, that crinkling warmth, that open palm offered without a single demand.
Stefan sagged against the wall, chest heaving, phone still clutched in his slick hand. He pried his eyes open and stared at the words on the screen. The little grey check mark stared back at him, waiting.
His thumb hovered over the keyboard. Adrenaline still sang through his blood, and his voice, rough from the gasp of release, was barely a whisper in the empty room.
"Made it home," he said, and typed the same words back, thumb trembling as he hit send.
The phone buzzed before the send animation finished. Diego's reply sat on the screen, bright and immediate.
It was a picture of him, lying in bed, shirtless and smiling.
"Tomorrow. The gym. I'll show you the real one. Bring your lifting shoes.
Stefan stared at the words. No question mark, just an open door. And that picture.
The dark laminate was cold under his bare feet, and his shirt clung to his chest with drying come, and none of it mattered. He could feel Diego's thumb still pressed against his wrist, that slow circle imprinted like a brand.
He typed: What time?
The reply came before his thumb left the screen.
7am. I'll bring coffee. You bring that grip you showed me tonight.
Stefan laughed, a raw, startled sound in the empty room. His cock stirred again, half-hard, a stubborn echo of the pulse that had driven him against the wall. He thought about Diego's hands, those big hairy forearms, the way his knee had pressed and stayed. Tomorrow he'd put his palm in Diego's hand again. He'd do it on purpose this time.
He showered, jerking off again,stopping short only to save the load for tomorrow's gym workout. Afterward, he pulled on a pair of gym shorts, and lay in bed with the phone face-up on his own bare chest, the conversation glowing in the dark. He fell asleep smiling. The last thing he felt before sleep took him was the memory of the press of a knee against his own, warm through the denim, waiting.